Bitter Karella’s ‘Quaint Folk’ looks terrifying. Check out an exclusive excerpt from the novel here before it releases October 6.
We’re excited to exclusively share an excerpt from Bitter Karella’s latest horror novel, Quaint Folk, hitting shelves on October 6. If you need something for your ever-expanding October TBR, Quaint Folk should be at the top of your list. Not only is the cover dazzling, but folk horror remains a relatively untapped subgenre, especially in the literary space, and Quaint Folk looks to subvert those conventions in sublime new ways.
Per the publisher: From the outside, it looks like Jessica has the perfect life and perfect family, but deep down, she knows she can’t escape her past. When her husband’s job has them move abroad, Jessica thinks this is her chance for a fresh start. But as she tries to befriend the townsfolk, she realizes that beneath the town’s cozy idyll, something sickly-sweet and rotten lays buried.
The trip from America was long and arduous—first by plane, then car, now by boat, with a complaining teen in tow the entire time—but they were finally within reach of their destination, and Jessica could not be happier to sleep in an actual bed again. Sandy, because they were young and did not understand anything, complained that they could not use their electronic device while they were on the plane and then complained that it didn’t work right while they were on foreign soil. Greg slept on the plane, then kept up a stream of inane chatter detailing the interesting points of Hasenhurst (Mostly, that it was old and had history) as they drove. It was not until they were on the ferry, bobbing over choppy gray waves, that Jessica truly started to feel as if they were entering unknown territory. She felt like the ferry might yet simply vanish over the edge of the world.
“Is it far to Hasenhurst?”
“Far enough, ma’am.” The ferry captain gazed levelly at Jessica, his expression blank as if he could not comprehend her question. He had the weather-beaten look of a man aged before his time by a life spent in the wind and the rain, deep wrinkles at the corners of his flabby mouth and long, greasy, graying hair spilling from under his woolen beanie and whipping in the ocean wind. The hands that gripped the wheel were gnarled, thick with calluses, and he clutched a smoldering cigarette between tobacco-stained fingers.
“I’ve never been there before,” continued Jessica. “I’m told it’s very quaint.” She pulled her coat tightly around her shoulders. The bitter sea wind blew her long dark hair out of alignment and the brine made it frizz like a black dandelion. All around them, there was nothing but dark ocean under brooding gray skies.
“It’s traditional, if that’s what you mean,” said the captain. “Folks on Hasenhurst, they stick to the old ways.”
He placed the cigarette to his lips and sucked with a vengeance, determined to wrest some iota of enjoyment from it. Jessica had officially quit smoking fifteen years ago, back when she was pregnant with Sandy, but she still felt the familiar urge as she watched the captain exhale a plume of smoke.
“What does that mean?”
The captain shrugged.
It was only now that Jessica really became cognizant that Hasenhurst did not appear to be a very popular tourist destination. The roads on the mainland were clogged with tourists from Canada, China, America… But Jessica and her family appeared to be the only outsiders visiting the island. The deck of the ferry was empty but for the family’s rented ’24 Jeep Grand Manitou, and the little vessel shifted uneasily beneath the car’s massive weight. Greg and Sandy remained inside the Manitou, while Jessica stood at the ferry’s helm, chatting to the captain, gripping the railing and inhaling great healing lungfuls of salty sea air.
The ’24 Manitou was a marvel of American luxury-brand car engineering, complete with GPS, rearview camera, heated seats, and a sunroof that doubled as a moonroof. It was designed to be driven in closed-circuit racecourses on the set of Jeep Grand Manitou commercials, and it was best viewed against the scenic backdrop of the Rocky Mountains, preferably interspliced with footage of cowboys and grimy construction workers with determined looks in their eyes welding big pieces of metal. It was not designed for narrow European roads, barely wider than dirt paths in Jessica’s estimation, and it was certainly not designed for these tiny European ferries. Greg, under Jessica’s direct supervision, had reserved a compact car at the London airport, but upon arrival they had been informed that the car they requested was not available—and that the only alternative, unless they knew how to drive stick, was this behemoth.
Jessica was not happy about this situation. She felt that such an embarrassing gas-guzzler marked them to the locals as ugly American tourists, and she was sensitive about how she represented her country overseas.
A change of scenery would do them good, she told herself. They would be cooped up together in a darling little guesthouse, and the enforced togetherness would finally bring this family together in the way a family should be together. Greg was always so distracted. He worked late nights at Ungo.com™ and Jessica was increasingly convinced that it was not because Stan was forcing him to. He was growing bored with her, distancing himself in preparation for the end. She could sense it. In her youth, when they first met, when Greg swept her off her feet at an Ungo.com™ Christmas party, he had seemed so different from the other men that Jessica had known in her life. He was so sweet, so gallant, such a goofy, dorky little Boy Scout that she couldn’t help but let her guard down for the first time. For years, people would ask Damn, Greg, how’d you bag such a hottie because she was clearly out of his league, but that was a long time ago. They were both older now. It was natural to grow apart as you aged, it was natural for passions to temper, it was natural for a man to lose interest. Were they truly at the point where they were only together for Sandy’s sake? Could it be that as soon as Sandy was grown, once they were out the door, Greg would follow? And then Jessica would have nothing. It wasn’t like she had a career or a job. And at her age, she couldn’t even count on her looks anymore. This was the worst thing ever.
She could stave it all off, she knew she could. Jessica was gifted with an enormous force of will and she was certain that, if she played her cards right, she could change the direction of the wind. She still had options. She still had time.
A lighthouse, perched upon an outcrop of black stone, loomed up out of the mist. No beacon shined from its tower.
“Your lighthouse isn’t lit,” said Jessica.
The captain nodded in acknowledgment, but he didn’t seem perturbed by this revelation.
The ferry bucked as it hit a swell and Jessica grabbed at the railing, barely maintaining balance. The captain gripped the wheel. Jessica watched the lighthouse, towering above the little ferry like some great beast rearing out of the black waters, until it was absorbed back into the fog. Ahead, there was nothing but more fog.
“ ’Tain’t been lit in years, ma’am. ’Tain’t necessary. No one comes this way.”
“Surely you must have tourists!”
“No, ma’am. Hasenhurst is very exclusive.”
Jessica sighed under her breath. She wasn’t even getting a decent conversation. She decided to return to her family.
Greg sat in the front seat of the Manitou, drumming his hairy hands idly against the steering wheel, his sunglasses hooked into the neckline of his seasonally inappropriate crewneck. In the back seat, Sandy tapped at an electronic device. Sandy wore leather bracers around each skinny wrist and a black sleeveless tank top with the words HOT SNOT ’22 WORLD TOUR emblazoned across the front in spiky white heavy metal font.
Jessica rapped her knuckle against the car window.
Greg rolled it down with the press of a button. “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”
“Terrible. This guy is the worst conversationalist.”
Greg chuckled. “Babe, he’s a sailor. They’re supposed to be taciturn. You’re getting the full sailor experience.”
“Why don’t you two come out and see the fog?” She looked into the back seat. “Sandy, sweetie? Put down your phone and check out the famous English fog.”
Sandy looked up from their electronic device and sneered. “It’s just fog, Mom.”
“You teenagers are just determined to be unimpressed at everything.” Jessica glanced back at the captain, who despite his graying hair and craggy countenance couldn’t be that old, but whom a life of responsibility had left stoic and reserved. She wondered whether the captain would dare talk back to his mother like this. Probably not. She got the impression that people in this country were far too polite to ever talk back to their parents.
“You know, champ, Hasenhurst is a nice quaint village on a quiet little island.” Greg rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The roads are probably gonna be pretty empty. Maybe this would be the perfect time for some driving lessons?”
“Greg, no!” Jessica was aghast. “Sandy can’t drive this thing! It’s huge!”
Greg patted the steering wheel. “I think Sandy can handle it.”
Jessica did not like the idea of Sandy behind the wheel of this monstrosity. It was too dangerous. Besides, learning to drive was just another milestone on Sandy’s journey to adulthood, and Jessica wanted to hold this family together a little while longer. “Greg, we’d never get our deposit back if you let them drive this.”
Greg sucked air between his teeth. “Okay, yeah, that is a good point. Sorry, champ. Ixnay on the driving lesson.”
Sandy threw up their arms and groaned. “That’s not fair! I could totally handle a Manitou!”
“I am not letting my little baby die in a fiery car wreck just because their father doesn’t think things through,” huffed Jessica. “Go back to your phone if you don’t want to see the fog. But you’re missing out on a real experience.”
I’ll just do it alone, she silently fumed as she walked away. Just like always.
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